


Visitation

by chronicAngel



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Health Issues, POV Third Person, Sad, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 23:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14580255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: "How is Philip?" She asks, fingers pausing over the keys of her piano. "He doesn't respond to any of my letters."





	Visitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caffeinewentz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinewentz/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy your gift, Lyle. I don't envision myself writing very much for this fandom, but the inspiration struck.
> 
> Note: Eliza Hamilton Holly's name was actually just Eliza, not Elizabeth. This is what is written on her [baptismal](http://registers.trinitywallstreet.org/files/history/registers/display_detail.php?id=6178&sacr=baptism) and [marriage](http://registers.trinitywallstreet.org/files/history/registers/display_detail.php?id=7322&sacr=marriage) records.

Dr. MacDonald has always been kind to her, and remains as such this visit, greeting her at the door with a smile and leading her to Angelica's room without question or small talk. She appreciates the lack of conversation every time, as it gives her time to think about what she will say to her sister, with whom conversation is often nearly impossible. He leaves her at the door with an apology and an explanation that he has much work to do, and then she stands alone in the hall in front of Angelica's tall door.

She takes a steadying breath, and then pushes herself forward into the room. Angelica sits in the far corner, playing the same old piano their aunt bought for her before Eliza was even born. The melody is one she has dull memories of from her early childhood, and she imagines her parents playing it with her elder brothers.

"Good evening, Eliza," Angelica says without looking away from the keys, voice taking on an airy quality. She has such a startling awareness of the room around her, considering. "I hope you've been well." She hums a confirmation. "What of your husband?"

"Sidney passed away six years ago, Angelica," she gently reminds her sister with a flinch.

Angelica does not respond for a long time. Eliza isn't certain she has a concept of mortality anymore, though she supposes her sister hasn't asked after their father in years, so she must have some memory of his death. "How is Philip?" She asks, fingers pausing over the keys of her piano. "He doesn't respond to any of my letters."

She has to swallow her initial response that Philip, their youngest brother, is good. The announcement of his second son Allan's healthy delivery in Brooklyn last week was a joy to Eliza and their mother. After a moment, though, her heart breaks as she realizes that Angelica is referring to their eldest brother. Eliza has no memories of him, as he died when she could hardly be called a toddler, but his death continues to haunt her every interaction with her sister. If she were a more bitter woman, she might be resentful of him for it. "Philip is..." She starts, and then changes her mind halfway through as she painfully recalls once more her sister's true lack of perception. "Good. I can't say why he hasn't responded. Perhaps you should stop writing until he does?" She suggests tentatively.

Her sister scoffs. "And what sort of a sister would that make me, Eliza? If he chooses not to respond, it is only a reflection of himself." She begins playing the piano again.

Eliza invites herself to sit on the bed, taking a strain off of her ankles, which have been growing weaker with age. She can only imagine what sitting at that piano all of the time must be doing to Angelica's back, but chooses not to fuss lest she be met with a childish tantrum. She recognizes this as one of Mozart's earlier pieces, though she can't place the title, and she is happy to sit through it in quiet until the end. Talks with Angelica are so often emotionally exhausting, and this time to think and to recover while her sister entertains herself is welcome.

Angelica stops abruptly halfway through the piece, standing with no warning and worrying Eliza for a moment that she is going to throw herself out of the nearby window. Instead, she simply stares at something on the ground outside, showing no inclination to move in the near future. After a moment, Eliza chooses to join her, squinting through the harsh daylight in the attempt to find whatever it is her sister is staring at with such fascination.

"Birds are so beautiful, aren't they, Liza?" It's a nickname she hasn't heard from anyone else since she was a young child, and she is too taken aback to give much of a real answer so she instead just nods. "I would wish to fly like a bird, one day. Perhaps I would fly with Philip," she says with a sad smile. Her voice has lost its typical airiness, and there is a worrying lucidity in Angelica's eyes.

"With Philip?" She asks, because she's not sure there is much else she can do. In all her life, her sister has never acknowledged their brother's passing; at least, not while Eliza was around to hear it. This is the closest she has come to doing as much, and she is more afraid than relieved. Though in most people, forgetfulness and delusion is a sign of age, this is how she has always known her sister to be. She can't help but wonder if perhaps, with Angelica, it is the opposite. She makes a mental note to speak with Dr. MacDonald later as Angelica begins speaking again.

"Yes. I do miss him." Then, as though she never implied she knew their brother was dead, she says, "I wish he would visit as often as you do."

Eliza stares out the window, feeling as though she could burst into tears at any moment, and watches as the birds that had been gathered in the grass of the yard before all fly away, startled by some noise inaudible to them through the glass.

Leaning her head onto her sister's shoulder and sighing what little of her sadness she can away, she watches one tiny bird, browner than the ones from earlier, land alone on the same patch to pick for scraps of whatever the larger flock was eating. "I'm sure some day he will."


End file.
